


French Class

by AlwaysChasing (MoreMarrMoreMoz)



Series: Coming of Age [1]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Fantasizing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, High School, In Public, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Original Character(s), Public Hand Jobs, Public Masturbation, School, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoreMarrMoreMoz/pseuds/AlwaysChasing
Summary: Short fic inspired by Kyle talking about being wanked off in French Class in this interview.  (5.50 onwards)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hoKdS3fh7ng&t=3sKyle - 'I got wanked off in French class in secondary school...it wasn't Dan.'BUT WHAT IF IT WAS?(I know this isn't possible down to ages let alone anything else, but it's my fic so I can write what I want!)Now complete.





	1. Chapter 1

"Je viens, tu viens, il vient, elle vient, nous venons, vous venez, ils viennent, ells viennent..."

I fucking hate French. Reciting verbs from memory leaves me numb. Although I'm pretty shit when it comes to having an actual real-life conversation in French, I've practiced the verbs so many times I know them inside out which means going over them again is dull. Dull, dull, dull, dull, dull. Everything about this class bores me senseless, from the totally unoriginal tricolore flag bunting that hangs on the walls to Madame Collett's stereotypical French ma'am bun and twinset. 

Actually, when I say EVERYTHING bores me about this class, I'm not being entirely truthful. There's one thing that keeps French class interesting. One person, to be more precise.

Kyle. 

He makes this hellish hour worthwhile. Kyle's the best looking guy in the school, hands down. Tall, with dark eyes that bore right through my chest and into my soul every time he so much as looks at me, which is nowhere near often enough, to be honest, even though we've sat next to each other all year long. He only usually speaks to me when he needs to borrow a biro or when he kicks his foot against mine, code that he wants me to help him out with the answer to a question. The verbs that are so simple to me seem to trouble him, and although he's a closed book - the strong, silent type as my mum would say - I can tell he hates this lesson as much as I do, even if it is for a different reason.

At least it's nearly over for today. 

Dieu Merci.

I slink down so my shoulders are level with the hard, wooden backrest of my seat as Madame Collett pops the lid from her whiteboard pen ready to set our homework task. That's the thing about being right at the front of the class, there's nowhere to hide and the only respite comes when she's scrawling on the board, her pastel-cardigan-bedecked back to the class.

Kyle shifts in his seat too. I don't have to look at him to know that he's allowed himself to relax. His knees, previously pointing directly to the front of the room, are no longer rigid. How do I know this? Because his thighs have parted, his left forearm casually falling into the gap between them in a way that ties my stomach in knots; the outside of his right thigh skimming against mine for the merest fraction of a second before I pull my body taut. I recoil as though I'm a marionette being controlled by a puppeteer, but just the warmth of his body against mine is enough to cause my dick to twitch. If I allowed myself to bask in the thrill of the contact I'd probably end up with a stiffy that would last long after the bell which indicated the end of the lesson.

I can feel the weight of his stare as I write the chapter number in my homework diary, more slowly than usual. It's a delaying tactic because the blood's still rushing to my groin, and if my eyes catch his I'm scared I might actually explode.

"Due in on Monday," Madame Collett calls out (in French, naturally) as the shrill ringing reverberates around the room. Chair legs scrape the scratched wooden floors, and Woody and Charlie who've been sat behind start talking about how they're going to get into an 18+ night to see a local band who are on the verge of hitting the big time. Woody might get in, but Charlie hasn't got a hope in hell. He's barely over five feet tall and scrawny as anything. 

Relief floods through me as I lean down to rescue my backpack from underneath the desk. Kyle reaches for his bag too, and we pack our books away in unison. The sound of our zips fastening might just as well have been in stereo because our actions were so perfectly synchronised. If I didn't know better - didn't know that someone like him could never be interested in someone as nerdy and awkward as me - I'd take it as a sign. But as he walks past me without so much as a word or a backwards glance, I'm reminded that the only love story between me and Kyle Simmons is the one that plays out in my head each night, firstly when I stroke my thumb against my hardened cock to get rid of the anxieties of the day and then later, unconsciously, when I finally fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's too short but if I hadn't written something today this would have become another fic that languished unfinished. Chapter three is going to be full of cute fluff though, I promise!

"Dan."

The low tone of the voice sends tingles down my spine.

Slowly, cautiously, I turn to face the person I know the voice belongs to - Kyle Simmons. Kyle approaching me is nigh on unprecedented, and the tug of anxiety in my stomach acts as a warning sign. Who needs flashing red lights when you're as nervous as me?

"Uh...hi." My voice comes out strangled and I inwardly curse my ineptitude. 

"I've been wanting to talk to you," he says, and my heart starts to race as the gaze of his stupidly sexy dark eyes fixes on mine. 

My stomach knots with the irrational fear that he somehow knows about last night, how I'd laid back on my bed and frantically jerked myself off as thoughts of him raced through my head. How I'd screwed my eyes tightly shut and pretended it was Kyle's hand beating out a rhythm on my cock rather than my own. It hadn't taken long for the rush of pleasure to ripple through my body leaving my fingers sticky as I tried to stifle my moans so my parents wouldn't hear me come. At the time it had been thrilling but now, with him right here next to me, it seemed dirty and sordid. What if he was some kind of mind-reader and he wanted to confront me about storing up our interactions in my wank bank? But no, stop being stupid, Dan. He's not a fucking psychic, he's just a ridiculously hot guy that you've got a crush on.

"It's about the homework Collett set yesterday," he says, reaching up and checking the positioning of his immaculately styled hair. God, even that turns me on; the movement of his fingers stroking the hardened gel a motion I was unwittingly storing away for future use. "I don't get it."

"Oh," I reply, relieved that he'd wanted to talk about something totally unrelated to my masturbation habits. "Well, I could help you with it if you like?"

A flicker of disappointment flashes across his face.

"I wasn't looking for help. However many time I go over it I'll never understand it, so what's the point? I thought you could lend me yours so I could copy it."

"Right. Err...yeah. Okay," I bumble, fumbling hurriedly in my backpack for the blue exercise book. Of course he could borrow mine, I'd do anything for him. "I did it last night. It was hard." 

I don't mention the other activity I'd been sweating over the previous evening, nor what else had been hard, as I offer him the book.

"Cheers, mate."

Mate. Are we mates? The end of the summer term is in sight and although we've been sitting next to each other all year there's never been anything that would make me think we were friends. Acquaintances, yes, but mates? No. At least, not yet.

"When do you need it back?" Kyle asks, stuffing the book in his bag. I notice one of the corners creasing and fight back the urge to tell him to be more careful. "Is it alright if I give it you in class on Monday?"

"Sure. Maybe Madame Collett won't remember to ask for the homework anyway. We're having that party in class, remember?"

A puzzled look crosses Kyle's face as slides his bag onto his back. "What party?"

"You know, the baguettes and the brie and stuff," I reply, my cheeks flushing pink as I remember it's Kyle I'm talking to. This is, without doubt, the longest conversation we've ever had. "Croissants too, I think."

"Gotta love a croissant."

At first I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not because of the deadpan look on his face, but then the corners of his mouth twitch into the beginnings of a smile. Shit he looks cute. Yet another image to store away.

"What's the party for, anyway? End of term?" he asks.

At the risk of coming across as a geek, I shake my head. "Bastille day celebrations."

The dark eyes look back at me blankly, and Kyle shrugs. "I don't know what that is."

"It's the French National Day. Personally, I think Madame Collett has just run out of stuff to teach is this year and sees it as an easy way out."

"Well, if there's croissants involved I'll celebrate anything. Bastille day, eh? At least I've learnt something new today. Makes me feel better about copying this," he says with a dry laugh, tapping at the bag that contained my exercise book. "What date is it on Monday again?" he asked.

"July 14th."

"July 14th," he repeats thoughtfully. "It's as good a day for pastries as any other."

"Right." I smile, knowing I'll have already gorged at least two pain au chocolat for breakfast that day.

"Thanks again for helping me out with the homework," he says, before he starts to turn away. "You're a lifesaver."

"Don't be silly, it's no problem," I call after him, but he's already talking to Will, a leather jacket-clad lad in the year above who lives next-door-but-one to me. Seeing them together makes me jealous for no good reason, especially as Kyle casually slings his arm around the older boy's shoulder. 

Once I'd got over my initial anxieties, I'd not wanted the conversation to end. Partly because spending time with Kyle was what I've been fantasising about for the best part of a year, and having an excuse to look at him face on was the stuff of dreams. And partly because, for some inexplicable reason, I'd really wanted to tell Kyle that Bastille Day wasn't the only celebration on July 14th. It was also going to be my fifteenth birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan jerking off as he thought about Kyle was inspired by the song I Touch Myself by The DiVinyls. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wv-34w8kGPM
> 
> Comments welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tried to make this a cute chapter! Hope you like it.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos so far :)

"Charlie, leave some of that brie for your classmates! And Chris Wood, that baguette is not a weapon!” Madame Collett chides as Woody brandishes the stick of bread like a samurai wielding a sword.

The Bastille day celebrations are in full swing with our teacher dressed head to toe in the national colours of red, white and blue as she hums along to Jean-Michel Jarre ‘s Oxygene.

“Quite the party,” Kyle says, smiling at me as we stand in line waiting our turn to choose our food from the selection of French cuisine on offer. “I just hope there are some croissants left by the time we get to the front. I don't trust those gannets.” He throws a side-eye in Charlie and Woody's direction. “And I'm starving.” 

He rubs his hand against his stomach in the international sign for ‘I'm hungry’, pulling his pale blue school shirt out of his trousers in the process and flashing the khaki-green band of his boxers and the merest hint of stomach flesh. Fuck, Simmons. Are you trying to kill me?

“I had a big breakfast.”

“Lucky. I've not eaten today. Slept through my alarm and only just made the bus in time. Didn't even get chance to do my hair,” he adds, self-consciously running his hand through his locks.

Now that I look more closely he's not as well-groomed as usual. He's still attractive, because Kyle's the kind of person who could roll out of bed and look amazing, he's got that certain 'je ne sais quoi'. But today his hair's fluffier – the style similar to mine although it is a few shades lighter – and dark shadows hover under his eyes as though he's had a bad night's sleep.

“Still looks good though,” I say without thinking, and immediately glance over my shoulder to make sure no one has overheard. Some of the boys in the year throw the word ‘gay’ around as an insult, which is just one reason why I'll never, ever come out for as long as I'm at this school. 

When I look back and catch Kyle's eye, he's looking at me quizzically and I curse myself for being so careless.

“Cheers, Dan,” he says finally, as the queue shuffles forward.

Edith Piaf's 'Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien' blasts out of the CD player in the background.

“What's this woman rattling on about? I don't understand a word of it,” Kyle says, pulling a grape from a bunch on the table and popping it into his mouth. As he bites into the fruit a dribble of juice runs down his chin and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. It's one sexy as hell manoeuvre.

I try to concentrate on translating the lyrics. “It's about having no regrets about the past... not the good stuff or the bad stuff. She's setting fire to the memories to focus on the future.”

Kyle smirks, but not unkindly, as the song reaches its grand crescendo. “And what about this last bit?”

I'm aware of the blood rushing to my cheeks as I try to decipher the final line.

“I have no regrets because my life, my joy...” I swallow down the lump swelling in my throat, unable to maintain eye contact as I translate the final words. “It begins with you today.”

*

By the time we reach the table, the choice of food remaining is limited. That’s what happens when you sit right at the front and the buffet is set up on tables along the back wall of the classroom.

“Oh.” Kyle stops short, the sudden halt causing me to walk into the back of him and almost drop the crust of baguette that was balancing on my plate. “Look.”

He points to a china platter with just one lonely croissant left on it.

“Greedy sods,” I say, eyeing a group of lads with their plates piled high with pastries.

“You can have it,” he says, graciously moving aside so I can get closer to the table.

“No, no!” I answer hurriedly. “You should have it, especially as you've not had breakfast. I've eaten loads already today and there'll be a caterpillar waiting for me at home...”

Kyle raises his eyebrows at me. “Caterpillar?”

“You know,” I mumble, “those cakes that you get from Marks and Spencer.”

“A Colin the Caterpillar? What, is it your birthday or something?”

I nod feebly, embarrassed . I'd wanted him to know about my birthday, but why had I mentioned the cake? He must think I'm a baby.

“There's no way I can have the croissant now I know that,” he says.

“Honestly, it's fine.”

“No, I insist.” He picks up the croissant and places it on my plate before I can argue further. “Happy birthday, Dan.”

Although I'm touched by the gesture, especially as Kyle's stomach audibly rumbles as he hands it over, I can't take it when I know how much he likes croissants. If he even likes them, that is... maybe his talk of them has been one elaborate joke that's gone over my head.

“We could share?” I suggest, tearing the crab-shaped dough in half and offering the larger of the two pieces to Kyle. 

Our fingers skim as he gratefully takes it, a jolt of high-voltage energy running through me at his touch. 

His gaze fixes on mine as he shoves the croissant in his mouth, and he purposefully - unblinkingly- licks the buttery residue from the finger that has just touched mine. I can’t help thinking this is the best birthday ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oxygene by Jean-Michel Jarre https://youtu.be/MBhRwp9LVyc
> 
> Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Edith Piaf - https://youtu.be/zRCYEkA0_q8
> 
> Colin the Caterpillar cakes are a kind of rite of passage for birthdays in the UK. Cool with young kids and nostalgic adults, perhaps a bit more embarrassing for a teenager who is trying to come across as cool in front of a crush. https://www.marksandspencer.com/connie-the-cute-giant-caterpillar-pre-order-/p/p60095198?prevPage=srp&pdpredirect


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - This story is heating up now and there are some additional tags/archive warnings for underage (non-penetrative) sex. 
> 
> Feel really nervous about this chapter going up for some reason so please be gentle! I think 2 more chapters to go in this one, but if anyone is interested in the rest of Kyle and Dan's story post-school let me know in the comments :D

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Kyle asks as we sit down at our desks to eat the rest of the food on our plates, not that there's much of it.

I shrug my shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d be bothered. We’ve been sat next to each other all year and never really talked.”

“I’m shy,” he replies, but the smirk that's playing out on his lips suggests he's anything but. Quiet? Maybe. But shy? No. 

“If anyone’s shy around here it’s me,” I reply, thinking of all the times I’ve desperately wanted to talk to Kyle but been too scared to approach him for fear of making an idiot of myself. I’ve convinced myself he’d flat out ignore me if I ever approached him on the corridors. “I worry people think I’m an annoyance,” I admit, before looking down at the double desk that's covered in years' worth of bored students graffiti. ‘KS’ is carved into the wood. I remember watching Kyle furtively scratch it into the desk with the sharp point of a compass one rainy day in the autumn term as Madame Collett wrote out tasks on the board.

“Why would you think that?”

“I dunno. I worry that people won’t like me.” 

I look up at him, squinting as the sun beats in behind him through the first floor window.

“People like you, Dan,” he says, those intense eyes fixing on mine. “I like you.”

What happens next is beyond my wildest dreams, and when it comes to Kyle my dreams have been pretty much no holds barred. He moves both his hands underneath the desk and slowly, tentatively, slides his right hand until it rests upon my thigh. 

My stomach clenchs at the unexpected contact and for a fraction of a second I forget how to breathe. 

He's still looking at me, mild amusement dancing behind his eyes, as he quietly asks, “Is this ok?”

I don’t trust myself to talk, and probably wouldn’t be able to get my words out if I try, so instead I give a little nod of consent.

The heat of his palm sears through my trousers and if I didn’t know better I’d swear my skin's burning as his hand edges higher until the tip of his little finger brushes against my cock. The fabric of my trousers might as well not be there - that faintest of touches is all it takes to set things stirring in my boxers.

I can’t look at him for a moment longer, as embarrassment takes hold. It’ll be obvious from the way I’ve reacted that I'm a virgin, and Kyle's probably had loads of experience. But despite feeling like an idiot, and worrying that I'm going to shoot my load any minute, I daren’t move Kyle’s hand away for fear that this might be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Plus, it feels good. Fucking terrifying, but so, so good.

Concentrate on something else, Dan, I think as Kyle gently squeezes my inner thigh. I try to focus on the music playing in the background, some trippy French electronica I'm not familiar with. My brain may as well be candyfloss because I don’t have a cat in hells chance of translating the lyrics with Kyle massaging my leg, his fingers tantalisingly close to my cock which is rapidly hardening. Unfortunately the one lyric repeating over and over in English is ‘sexy boy’, which is a massive turn on when the person you’ve been crushing on for ten months is touching you up. 

“Take a breath,” Kyle instructs, his voice a quiet hum, "or you'll pass out."

But I'm too scared to relax, too scared of the consequences of letting my guard down. What if this is some kind of elaborate dare? But no, surely not. I know how homophobic some people in this school are, there's no way on earth Kyle would open himself up to the name-calling and worse just to fulfil some juvenile challenge.

My hands grip the edge of my seat as the familiar sensation ripples through my body. Shit, shit, shit. This is actually going to happen, right here in the middle of French class as Charlie and Woody piss about, strutting like catwalk models to Lady Marmalade.

I bite down hard on my lip as Kyle’s hand moves up and over the tent-like point in my trousers. Why is this so much more intense than when I touch myself? He hasn’t even taken me in his hand, and there's a layer of Marks and Spencer’s hardwearing everything-proof trousers in between us, so why is every nerve ending in my body buzzing?

I can’t hold back much longer, the throbbing intensifying until I know I'm at the point of no return. Swallowing down my moans is excrutiating. All I want to do is say Kyle's name the way I have when I've wanked myself off thinking about him at home.

When it's obvious I'm done, Kyle’s hand retracts from my thigh and only then do I shyly look at him, watching him wipe his fingers against his own trousers. The thought that there might be even a drop of my come on Kyle’s hand is enough to make my stomach twist.

“Calmez-vous!” Madame Collett’s voice is shrill and abrupt, and brings me back down to earth with a bump. “We have just one more French lesson left this year, and on Friday I’ll be testing you all on what we’ve been learning this year.”

Groans erupt around the room, but I'm still quivering from my orgasm, wondering if everyone can tell what's just happened. My head is swimming with questions and lust.

“Your homework this week is to revise the vocab we’ve been working on and ensure you know the verbs inside and out. I have high expectations for you, Year Ten.”

With that the bell rings signalling the end of the lesson, and as I bend down to pick up my bag I notice there is indeed a dark damp patch showing on my trousers. Hurriedly I untuck my shirt, hoping it’ll hang low enough to cover the mark.

“No one'll notice,” Kyle whispers conspiratorially as we make our way out of the classroom. “And if they do, just say you spilt your drink.”

My heart races as he looks me directly in the eye and hands me my French book.

“You’ll be needing this,” he says, before patting me on the back as he turns left and I turn right. 

I don't want him to go, for this - whatever this is - to be over.

I'm half way down the corridor, still trying to process what the fuck has just happened, when he calls my name.

I spin around.

“Happy birthday again,” he shouts, rubbing the hand that had brought me such pleasure through his hair. “And save Colin the Caterpillar’s face for me, yeah?” he adds with a grin.

“Sure,” I call back with a smile.

“And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

I hold my breath, mesmerised, as he winks at me.

“You owe me one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Air - Sexy Boy - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wouKI_myXxk
> 
> Patti LaBelle - Lady Marmalade - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4LWIP7SAjY


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a short one... time's been tight lately. Hope to update again on Saturday to make up for it!
> 
> Comments, as always, welcome.

It's the last day of the school year and everyone's ready for the end of term. The weather's already in holiday mode too, the always-stuffy school even more airless than normal due to the humidity. Even though I’m conscious of my arms - conscious of my body full stop - I’ve had to roll up the sleeves of my shirt. It’s just too hot not to.

My mind has been working overtime since Monday's events. What had it meant? Was Kyle gay too, or bi? Could he possibly like me in the same way I like him? However hard I try, I can’t shrug off my worries that it had been some kind of dare, but it hadn’t felt like a dare at the time. It had felt like heaven. And what had he meant by saying I owed him one? There are just too many questions and not enough answers in my head right now.

Chemistry is the last but one lesson of the day, and Mr Mills – a doddering old teacher with a rather impressive collection of bow ties – doesn’t even pretend to have a lesson planned out. Instead he puts on 'Weird Science', which pleases Charlie, who shares the bench with me. Every time Kelly le Brock comes onto the screen He emits a strange high-pitched noise of admiration and even though females don’t do it for me I can see the appeal.

“Have you ever seen anyone more beautiful?” Charlie says, all but physically drooling.

I let out a small, non-committal laugh. It wasn’t like I could say ‘well actually, yeah. Kyle Fucking Simmons.’ I’d probably give poor Charlie a heart attack if I came out like that, especially as Kelly's already got his pulse racing at a dangerous level.

“Seriously, though,” Charlie continues, “she’s unreal.”

“They literally design their ideal woman. I mean that’s the whole plot of the film, that she’s not real.”

Charlie rolls his eyes at me. “Not what I was getting at, dude.”

We both turn back to the screen, but I can’t concentrate on what's playing out in front of me. Charlie and Kyle are mates, I know that, and I can’t stop myself playing the same question over and over in my mind… is Kyle seeing someone? It's driving me crazy not knowing.

Eventually, unthinkingly, the words tumble out. 

“Do you know if...if Kyle’s seeing anyone right now?”

I'm aware of my cheeks heating up as the blood rushes to them, a sure sign that I'm blushing. Damn. So much for playing it cool.

Charlie smirks and the lop-sided grin on his face makes my heart pound with fear. I've blown it. Everyone's going to know I'm gay, everyone's going to make my life a misery and Kyle will never speak to me again. Why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut?

“Kyle? Seeing someone?” he echoes, a knowing tone in his voice. “Why are you bothered?”

“I’m not.” The reply comes out too quick and too loud. “Just wondered, that’s all,” I add, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I know why you’re asking,” Charlie says with a wink. “You’re into Marissa, aren’t you?”

“Marissa?” I stare back blankly.

“Don’t act innocent. Marissa. Will’s sister, Kyle’s ex.” He holds his hand over his chest as though he's lovestruck. “Join the queue, mate. Join the queue.”

“I didn’t know Kyle used to go out with Will’s sister,” I reply quietly, trying to process this new information. I knew Marissa because she was in our year - pretty and tall with wavy chestnut hair that fell halfway down her back, and the same self-assuredness of her older brother. Once, at primary school, she'd bitten my arm because I wouldn't share my new felt tip pens with her. I'd been afraid of her ever since.

“Yeah. Not for long, like. But they were together for a while, they came to my party together. Surely you remember that?”

I try to think back to the birthday party, where a group of us had gathered in the field that backed onto Charlie’s house to drink whatever alcohol we'd been able to steal from our parents' drinks cabinets, but no matter how hard I wrack my brain I can’t recall seeing the two of them together.

I shrug, trying to downplay it, but jealousy gnaws away at me. Had Kyle made Marissa feel the way he’d made me feel on my birthday? Had his fingers touched her most intimate parts? I don’t want to think about it, but at the same time I can’t not. My mind's whirring, and of course, being me, I'm thinking the worst.

“Woody kept telling them to get a room because they were all over each other,” Charlie says with a lascivious laugh. “They disappeared into the woods for a bit and when they came back Marissa had twigs in her hair so yeah, it was pretty obvious what they’d been up to. Will would have killed Kyle, if he hadn’t been so pissed that he couldn’t stand up. I can't believe you don't remember, you must have been more drunk than I thought...” he continues, but I've zoned out, not wanting to hear it.

The bitter taste of bile rises in my throat and for one awful moment I think I might throw up right here, over the gas taps. 

I push back my stool, ignoring everyone staring at me as the seat clatters to the floor and, clutching my stomach, run to the toilets, where I promptly throw up my lunch. 

Fuck Kyle Simmons, I think as I pull the chain. I hate him. 

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

But I don’t hate him, and that's the problem. I love him with every ounce of my heart and soul.

The persistent ringing of the bell indicates the end of the period and I sigh.

Time to face the music. Next lesson? French class.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left after this!
> 
> Comments welcome - and please do let me know if you want more fic based on stuff said in interviews ('Get On Top', anyone?!) xx

“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.” I'm still muttering about how much I can't stand Kyle as I walk into Madame Collett's classroom, trying and failing to convince myself that I'm really not bothered about who else he's been intimate with. Of course he's been with people, looking like he does. He could be a model, with his perfect hair and his hypnotic eyes and that's without mentioning his physique. He's always been tall with long, slender limbs, but there's a hint of definition in his arms these days too. I'd noticed on Sports Day. Kyle had been chosen to run the 200 metres, wearing the bottle green vest of his house and a pair of black shorts that had left so little to the imagination that they were borderline obscene.

“Someone's in a bad mood,” says Kyle, as I sling my backpack under the desk. “Cheer up, there's only one hour left of school and then we've got six weeks off.”  
His words are supposed to be a comfort, but they’re not. They only serve to remind me how after today I might not see him again until September.

When I don't reply, he looks at me questioningly, but I remain silent. All I can think of is him and Marissa doing who knows what and I'm seething with jealousy.

I feel a tap on the shoulder and when I turn around I find myself faced with Charlie, who looks concerned.

"Are you alright, mate? When you ran out of chemistry like that I wondered if you were ill."

I shake my head. "I'm alright."

"You're sure?"

"Sure. Quit making a fuss man, I'm fine. I'm great. Just needed a minute to myself."

"Oh yeah?" Charlie said, a half-laugh escaping his lips. "After talking about Marissa, right? Got you hot under the collar?"

I steal a quick glance to the left and notice Kyle watching on with interest. 

"No!" I bluster, "nothing like that."

"What were you saying about Marissa?" Kyle asks Charlie slowly.

"Nothing to get defensive about," Charlie replies. "Dan was asking if you were seeing anyone at the moment that's all, and I put two and two together and realised he's got a thing for Marissa. And yes, we were talking about my party and how you got your leg over, lucky bugger."

Kyle neither confirms nor denies the allegation and my stomach lurches again. Urgh.

Madame Collett claps her hands together twice to bring the class to attention and Charlie leaves to join Woody on the back row with a nod of jealousy and admiration in Kyle's direction.

"Year 10, I know it is the last day of school, but that's no excuse for not working. You've got the whole holidays to be lazy, so we're going to spend the next hour recapping the work we've done this year."

The class lets out a collective groan; although she'd threatened this we had held out hope that she might not follow through with it. No such luck.

As the teacher starts firing questions at the class, Kyle slips a piece of paper across the desk to me under the palm of his hand. As I move my hand to ensure the paper remains concealed, our fingers touch and a bolt of electricity surges up my arm. It makes me catch my breath and I wonder if he can feel it too. 

I tilt my hand to read the note, scrawled in black biro against the scrap of paper.

'So are you into Marissa? Or are you jealous?'

I turn to look at Kyle, who raises his eyebrows at me, his lips pressed into a line that I can't quite read.

Picking up my pen, a surge of bravery takes over. As Madame Collett fires a question at Woody I draw just one line on the paper before sliding it back across the wooden desk.

Kyle smiles at me as he sees where I've underlined 'jealous', and I furrow my brow in return as he starts writing a reply.

'You still owe me one,' I read, and when I turn back I notice his hand beneath the desk, unclipping the latch at the top of his trousers before loosening his zip. The fabric of his boxers is visible now, a burnt orangey colour that reminds me of sunsets.

As Madame Collett strides across the front of the classroom, engaging one of the girls sitting at the far end of the front row in a conversation about buying train tickets, beneath the desk Kyle takes my hand in his. Gently, softly, he squeezes it and when I smile, unable to hold onto my resentment, he moves it so it's resting on the band of elastic at the top of his underwear.

His lips curl up at the edges as he waits for my reaction, my fingers trembling at the thought of what he's suggesting.

Quickly, without thinking, I slide my hand down the flesh beneath his belly button, finding a coarse tangle of hairs.

This is infinitely more terrifying than when Kyle had made me come and as I move my hand lower it takes all my energy not to let out a whimper. I've never touched a cock that wasn't attached to my body before, and Kyle's feels different to mine. Longer and slightly thinner, and as I awkwardly draw my thumb over the slit at the head the wetness that is already leaking feels alien against my skin. I work up the best rhythm I'm able to within the constraints of his underwear, thinking I'd do a better job if he could be free and silently pray it feels good for him.

I'm aware of Kyle's breathing, regular but more rapid than normal, as Madame Collett stands just a few feet away from him, but I don't ease up. Instead I up my pace, trying to keep the action in my wrist rather than my elbow so no one sees what's happening. From the way Kyle's dick is throbbing, pulsing, I know he's close.

"Kyle Simmons," she says, before giving him a phrase to translate.

"J'arrive," he echoes, his voice even. "I'm coming."

And he does, his come warm and wet as it spills over my hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part (only short, it's more of an epilogue) and my second update in 24 hours so make sure you didn't miss chapter 6! I do have ideas for more fics if people would be bothered about me writing them...
> 
> Thanks for reading this, I hope you've enjoyed it (and if you have I'd love it if you could leave kudos).
> 
> Comments welcome. Xx

The summer's seemed long, and it's been acutely painful not sitting next to Kyle for two hours each week. 

I could have asked him for his number - he owes me that much surely, after what we've done? - but as soon as the final bell of the year rang and dismissed us for six weeks he was out of the door like a shot. I hadn't even had chance to give him the cake that he'd asked for. It had been left, squashed into the birthday serviette it was wrapped in, at the bottom of my bag for the first week of the holidays. 

Other than walking past each other at the supermarket and saying a polite hello (we'd both been with our mum's, it hadn't been an opportunity to talk about whether a repeat performance was in the offing) I'd not seen him at all. I'd stalked his Facebook profile, but he hadn't posted a thing. He might just as well have deactivated his account.

But now, walking back up the drive towards the three-storey main building, I'm full of a quiet inner joy at the thought of seeing him again. With last academic year ending the way it had I was optimistic that maybe, just maybe, it could be the start of something between us.

"Dan! Alright? Have a good summer?" asked Woody, pushing his long hair behind his ears.

"Not bad. We went to South Africa for the last month though so I've missed out on seeing anyone. What's new?"

"Nothing changes around here, you know that."

Charlie comes up behind us, greeting us each with a slap on the back.

"Hiya lads. What's up?"

"Ah, not much. Just saying to Dan that it's always the same old-same old in this shithole."

"Yeah, you're right," Charlie replied with a sigh. "Feels like we only just broke up for the summer and now we're back again." He pauses, before smiling at me brightly, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "I know something that'll interest you though, Danny boy."

"Oh?"

"There's gonna be a bit less competition for Marissa this year."

"You finally realised you've not got a hope in hell with a girl as hot as her, Barnes?" Woody laughs.

"Fuck off," Charlie replies, gesturing with his middle finger to emphasise his point. "Nah, I meant the news about Kyle."

At the mention of his name I'm on high-alert. 

"What about him?" I ask, hoping I don't sound as desperate as I feel. After a summer of staring at the photos on his social media profiles I can't wait to see his face in the flesh.

"You haven't heard? Let's just say he won't be cock blocking you any more."

My mouth feels dry as the bottom of a bird cage as I somehow sense what Charlie's going to say before the words leave his mouth.

"Kyle's family moved over the summer. He's gone."


End file.
